Shatter
by A Field of Starlight
Summary: Humans shattered so easily. Delicate, just the slightest touch could unravel their tenuous life force, and plunge them into the endless eternity that is death. Genre is horror because that was what it was originally intended as. It kinda turned out... different... though... ONESHOT.


Author's Note: I'm branching out into the realm of horror. Or at least, trying to. This'll be an interesting experience.

... I actually just kinda want to write something super disturbing.

Warnings: Horror. Yeah. I said that, didn't I? Um... torture, I guess? Does that fall under the category of horror? Oh, and pain, blood, gore... all that good stuff. And insanity on the part of... some... country... or countries...

I'm actually not quite sure where I'm going with this. I write these top A/Ns before writing the actual story, and I don't edit them. So... I have no idea what's going to happen as of now.

That being said, have fun reading! See you on the other side!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I am a high school student with way too much work and a mind that can get rather twisted. You do not want me to own Hetalia.

* * *

_A laugh bubbled up from the depths of his very being. Just a light giggle, clashing gently with the sounds of pained screams and moans that, despite the gag, were coming from the form in front of him._

_"Please don't scream, it makes me uncomfortable," he said in a light voice._

_A strangled noise, and the sounds subsided into soft sobs. He reached down, gently touching the skin._

_A whimper._

_"Does it hurt?"_

_Tearful eyes locked with his, then closed tightly._

_"Poor baby. Would you like me to ease the pain?"_

_A slight hesitation, then a nod._

_He smiled, and rested his fingers lightly on the forehead. A shudder, and then stillness, silence, the body cooling on the cold metal table._

_Sighing, he removed the gag, the restraints, and placed them aside to be cleaned later. He was, if nothing else, a stickler for cleanliness in this strange trade he practiced. Then, he picked the body up, cleaned it with a soft, damp rag, dressed it carefully, and placed it in the casket._

_"Goodnight, sweet human," he said. And the lid was lowered, forever sealing the box._

* * *

He opens his eyes, gasping for breath. Frantic eyes dart around the room, searching for anything, anything at all, out of the ordinary. Finding nothing, he sighs, slips out of bed, and pads into the bathroom.

In the mirror, he sees his own face reflected, the same as it's always been. The same for hundreds upon hundreds of years, never changing even while his humans lived and died and laughed and cried and loved and hated and created and destroyed and _lived_...

Wordlessly, he goes to his twin's room, shakes him awake. Another mirror image greets him, but this time, slight differences can be seen: the shade of the hair, the difference in attitude, the tint of the eyes. But still, this mirror image understands him perfectly. In the absolute solitude of the silence, they walk to the basement.

Hands move in tandem, setting up and disinfecting and scouring the room of anything and everything that could ruin a step of their intricate dance to follow. When finally both are satisfied, they stop.

Eyes meet, and by silent agreement, one lays back on the newly cleaned metal slab situated at the center of the room. The other gently applies the restraints, and the first allows him, never struggling, always willing and soft and pliable under his brother's touch.

As the first drops of blood hit the table, a pained gasp escapes into the air. Both cease motion, looking to each other for confirmation, one holding a bloodied knife and the other tied down and helpless. But neither backs out, and it continues.

As the night wears on, screams fill the room, delicious sounds of agony and pain. Wordless cries, filled with longing. Longing for something that cannot be.

The one with the knife stops, suddenly, looking down. A spark of light catches on the edge of the deadly blade, hypnotizing the one strapped down...

Just as it is plunged into his heart.

A gurgle escapes his mouth, and he falls. Limp. Dead. His brother takes a shaky breath, releases it. Another. In, out, breathe, release.

And finally, a sigh of relief. He stands, ignoring the body of his twin, and carefully mops up the crimson that had splattered on the floor, the table, the walls. He washes himself, as well, then sits down carefully to wait.

A minute passes. Two. Five. Ten.

An hour, two.

He begins to worry.

Three hours, four.

Panic rises in his throat, and he forcibly shoves it down.

Five hours. Six.

And suddenly, his brother gives a gasp. Wounds heal, muscles revitalize. The heart beats again. Eyes fly open, immediately locking on those that are so similar, yet so different.

The two fall into each others' arms, shaking. But not with pain, or grief, or even sorrow. No, they weep, in joy.

* * *

Nations are permanently broken. Their history, their people, the countless hundreds, thousands, millions, who had died by their hands... Each has to find their own way to, at least temporarily, make themselves whole again.

* * *

When he used to do this alone, when they both used to do this alone, the humans shattered so easily. Delicate, just the slightest touch could unravel their tenuous life force, and plunge them into the endless eternity that is death. But with nations...

The brothers resorted to this. Even as new wounds appeared on the skin, even as new screams ripped through the air, the old, broken shards of their minds were reconnected, mended, healed. They tore apart each others' bodies, knowing that they would not die, that they could not perish, as long as their nations were well and whole. Their bodies would not shatter as those of humans so readily did.

* * *

Tik, tok. The end grows ever closer. The time when they won't return, when they will fade to the edges of history, looms over the horizon. Order becomes chaos, light becomes dark. The day becomes the night, the rise becomes the fall.

All nations know that they will fall.

The only question is when.

Tik... tok.

* * *

And yet... their minds were so very vulnerable. Because even in the end, even if their bodies were impervious to mortal wounds, they were still human.

And humans were so easy to shatter.

* * *

Tik, tok. Tik... tok...

Tik... tik... tik...

Tik...

_Crack._

* * *

Author's Note: Well, that was fun. Ish. I'm not sure when exactly my mind turned the characters involved into the NA bros... Meh, whatever. NORTH AMERICA FOR THE WIN! WOOOO!

Um, so yeah. This kinda turned into an exploration of the nature of nations. Again. I feel like I've done this before... Meh, whatever. I guess I can't really write disturbing stuff that well... Maybe I just need more practice...? *slightly evil maniacal smile*

Hope you liked it!


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